


A Personal Op

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2768723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil drops by Clint's place after Clint gets back from an op without Phil, and Clint's baking cookies. That's okay. Phil might make this work for his own plans. He has plans to get to know Clint Barton better. Way better. Unbeknownst to him, so does Clint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Personal Op

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift fic for a tumblr pal who asked for a story about the amazing cookie, the snickerdoodle, being introduced to one of the boys for the first time. I hope this satisfies!

“Are you baking cookies?” Phil asks, setting a six-pack of beer down on Clint’s counter top.

“Yeah.”

Clint doesn’t even look up from where he’s measuring some sort of white spice into the bowl already filled with flour, sugar, and butter, from what Phil can tell. Of course, Phil’s never baked anything in his life, unless you count that one time when he put a Stouffer’s lasagna in the oven and it somehow came out black. It might have been because he absently turned the timer off while on the phone to Nick. Nick might have laughed when Phil had to hang up to turn off the smoke alarm.

“I didn’t know you baked cookies.” He’d dropped by with a six pack because Clint just finished an op with Agent Beal, and Agent Beal made Clint want to throttle him every time he had to work with him, so Phil thought he’d help Clint unwind.

Dropping by with beer was also part of a secret, personal op he was currently working on. His “Hook Up With Hawkeye” op had been running for about three months, ever since Clint had been promoted and was _technically_ the same level as Phil now. Nick called it the “Hittin’ Hawkeye’s Ass” op, but that made Phil blush even when he thought about it, so he went with his own name. Nick made sure to use his whenever he could. He loved making Phil blush.

“Do you want a beer?” Phil asks, reaching around Clint to grab the bottle opener out of the drawer.

“Sure, thanks,” Clint answers, stirring now, and looking up at Phil for the first time since he arrived.

“You look like hell,” Phil says, handing him the beer and opening one for himself. Clint’s eyes are bloodshot and his hair looks like it’s bedhead, even though Phil knows Clint only got home an hour or two ago. “Was Beal that bad again?”

“Beal can, apparently,” Clint says after he takes a long swig, “Coordinate one level seven and four level four agents to complete a search, retrieve, and conceal mission in the most efficient time-frame SHIELD has known.”

Phil tips his beer toward Clint. “That’s why we like him. He gets shit done.”

“Do you know why, Phil? Does anyone understand _how_ he manages this?” Clint says, setting the mixing bowl down and leaning into Phil’s space.

Phil’s not complaining, and Clint smells like cinnamon. Phil shrugs. “He’s good?”

“He’s a dick! He is. The. Biggest. Dick. I. Have. Ever. Met,” Clint says before he picks the bowl back up and moves back a little. “Christ. We all get our checks done in double time, we back ourselves up harder than we do for anyone else, because he is _such_ a dick. No one can stand to listen to him for one extra second, so he gets shit done.”

Phil moves closer to Clint and peers into the bowl. “That’s why Fury likes him. Did you notice we really only send him out when the matter is urgent?”

“He’s _such_ a dick,” Clint groans, and then he pulls out a cookie sheet from a cupboard and sets it on the island in the middle of his kitchen, grabs a spoon, and a bowl filled with something else that was sitting off to the side. He pulls a wad of the dough out of the mixing bowl and rolls it furiously into a ball.

“Should you be careful with the dough, Clint?” Phil asks, cocking his head to the side.

“They’re Snickerdoodles, Phil. They’re not delicate.” He rolls the ball in whatever is in the other bowl, and sets it on the cookie sheet.

Phil takes another drink and watches Clint for a minute. He’s dressed in a soft green t-shirt, jeans, and -oh lord - bare feet. He hadn’t noticed the bare feet, so he tries not to choke on his beer, but it doesn’t work. He coughs into his own sweater and ducks his head.

“You okay?” Clint asks, moving closer.

Phil nods and wipes his mouth. “Yeah. Um.” He’s blushing. He knows it. Clint’s in his space and he’s got bare feet and jeans that hug his ass so – fuck. Acting like this is not going to get him a hook up. “What are Snickerdoodles?” is what he goes with.

Clint steps back and his jaw drops a little. “You don’t know what Snickerdoodles are?”

“Yeah, no. Have I mentioned I don’t cook? Like. Ever?” He takes a drink.

“Yeah, you mentioned it, but Phil,” Clint answers, and draws Phil’s name out like he’s a little kid. “Phil, you have to have tried someone else’s Snickerdoodles before. They’re like, the best cookie in the universe.”

“Okay,” Phil says. “I can try yours, right?”

Clint heaves a put-upon sigh. “Yes, Phil. You can try mine.” He turns back to the island and finishes balling the dough and putting it on the cookie sheet.

“What are you covering it in?” Phil asks, poking a finger in the second bowl.

Clint looks in the bowl and back at Phil, narrowing his eyes. “That’s sugar and cinnamon.”

“Should I be able to tell that from looking at it?” Phil asks.

“Yes.”

“Sorry.”

Clint shrugs and puts the cookie sheet in the oven and sets the timer before he turns back to Phil. “I think you need some lessons.”

“In the kitchen?” Phil asks, and takes another drink. He feels good. He’s not buzzed, but he’s loose, and he’s with Clint, and Clint has bare feet and is making him cookies. He’ll mark this down as a good night when he gets home.

Clint takes another drink, sets his bottle on the counter, and is suddenly in Phil’s space again, close. His toes touch Phil’s shoes. “If you’re going to bring me beer after annoying ops, I can teach you how to make cookies.” He pauses and cocks his head a little. “Or we could do other things.”

Phil catches himself staring at Clint’s lips, and then forces himself to meet Clint’s eyes, those green, blue multicolor eyes that he could lose himself in. Clint hasn’t moved, and Phil realizes that the timetable on Hook Up With Hawkeye might have just gotten moved up. He hopes.

Clint smirks. “Other things, Phil,” he says, and Phil realizes he never answered Clint’s innuendo a second ago.

“You’re distracting me,” Phil says, and smiles. “Sorry.”

“Is it a good distraction?”

“Well, as long as we don’t burn the cookies,” Phil answers. “Apparently they’re the best in the universe.” His heart is racing and he wants to wipe his palms down the front of Clint’s shirt to dry them, but that probably isn’t cool. He settles for leaning forward a little, just to see what his parameters are here.

Clint gives him a small nod. “They are. The best. But other things are good, too, Phil.” He is staring at Phil’s mouth, and he licks his lips. Phil’s brain melts a little.

“Clint,” he says, but that’s all he can manage before Clint grins and leans in all the way, meeting Phil’s lips with his own. Clint tastes like sugar and cinnamon, and he presses his body close and wraps his hand around Phi’s back. He plays with Phil’s hair and time stops. Phil loses himself in the kiss, savoring the sweet smell of baking cookies and Clint’s body against his.

Finally, Clint pulls back, and his lips are swollen and his eyes are glittering with laughter. “You taste good,” he says, and picks his beer back up for a drink.

Phil can’t really think, so he just picks his own drink up and watches Clint carefully. He can’t stop the grin that completely takes over his face.

“This is good,” Clint says with a wink. “We’ll have cookies and beer and then we’ll make out and, uh, maybe more, and then we’ll go back to work tomorrow. It’s all good.”

Phil nods and moves close to Clint, leaning against him. “Snickerdoodles. Seriously? That’s what they’re called?”

“Yeah. Do you like my plan? Is it working?” Clint says, and presses a kiss to Phil’s cheek.

Phil laughs. “Was this your plan? I thought it was my plan.”

“What, you were gonna bring me beer to decompress after Beal and then have your way with me?”

“How'd you know to start cookies? Were you expecting me to come over?”

“Maybe. You always come over when I get back from an op with someone other than you. I figured even if you didn’t show I’d get cookies out of it, so. Yeah. I was hoping you’d stop by. Wait,” Clint says, turning into Phil’s space again. “You had a plan, too?”

Phil shrugs. “If I promise not to tell you what Nick’s been calling it for the last two months, can we agree that both our plans worked beautifully?”

Clint stares, and Phil thinks maybe he does lose himself in Clint’s eyes for a bit, and then Clint presses another kiss on Phil’s lips. “I like your plan, and I never, ever want to hear what Nick Fury named it. Just tell him it worked.”

Phil brushes his tongue against Clint’s lips and runs his hand through Clint’s hair. “If the cookies are as good as you say they are, I won’t tell him anything.”

Clint laughs into Phil’s mouth and it’s the best tasting thing Phil’s ever had. The cookies are a close second, but Nick finds out anyway.


End file.
